


In the Face of Pain

by Unsentimentalf



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4290609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf/pseuds/Unsentimentalf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A misunderstanding leads to a confrontation between Angel and Spike with bloody consequences.</p>
<p>Set immediately after Smashed, spoilers for S6. Written in 2001, part of my 2015 archiving of old fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Face of Pain

_"In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes, he thought over and over as he writhed on the floor, clutching uselessly at his disabled left arm." George Orwell, 1984._

Spike gritted his teeth in an attempt not to scream.

Above him Buffy reached her own private release from hell and for a brief moment she was collapsed in his arms and he was holding her as gently as if this had been a bed and not the floor of a collapsing house, as if they were lovers.

She relaxed into him and for a moment he thought of Angel. "One perfect moment of happiness" he muttered to himself. Hell, he'd almost put up with a soul for this.

Then she had pulled herself up onto her arms and looked at him; really looked, and he knew he might as well have screamed for all the good his restraint had done him. There was no hiding from this one, no bravado enough to cover what she knew about his feelings. He still couldn't read hers though; knew more than the others, that was sure, but not enough.

Buffy gave a small gasp of remembered horror and rolled off him. Spike knew this one at least. This wasn't him, this was the message he'd brought, hurling it at her in his delight at finally, finally being able to shake her composure, make her deal with him, stop her walking away. His chip didn't stop him hurting her, because it didn't recognise her as human.

She was sitting now with her back to him, crouched like prey. "Buffy" he started, gently enough.

"What am I, Spike?" Her voice was quiet and desperate. A wave of frustration hit him; why did she find this so difficult?

"Deal with it, Slayer." This time he was rougher. "You are what you are. Just like me."

" Not like you." She stood and turned to face him, pleading. "Not like you, Spike. Never like you." And she was out of what was left of the door.

Spike thought about going after her, but lassitude filled him. She wasn't in the mood for talking anyway. He wanted nothing more than to go home and think.

When he got there it was still hours before daylight. He drank a blood pack, lit the first cigarette and started pacing, thinking. The fight, the words they'd thrown at each other, the kiss, the way she'd impaled herself upon him, like she needed what only he could give her. So she had problems; well, he didn't really care, right now. He had what he needed; she needed him, everything was pretty much as good as it could get.

By the third cigarette he'd had enough thinking; he was in the mood for some more action. Not that sort, that would wait till later. He was high with life, or what passed for it for someone dead for so long. He wanted violence. Surely there must be something out there with his name on it.

There were not one but three figures at the other end of the cemetery as he emerged from the crypt. There was something terribly familiar about them; something not quite right. Spike was still trying to get his head round what it was that was wrong when the leading figure was on him with prenatural speed, slamming his head against the crypt entrance.

"Bloody hell" Spike gasped. "What do you think you're doing, Angel?" He pulled himself back up and was immediately knocked down again. This time he decided to stay down while he worked out what the hell was going on.

The other two figures had caught up; Spike finally realised who they were; Giles, who was supposed to be several thousand miles away, and Xander, who was screaming at him. The identification did nothing to make him any more clear about what was going on.

All three were standing round him now. Angel spoke to the others

"Stay back; with that chip out he could hurt you." Spike couldn't recall ever hearing his grandsire so dark, so dangerous. What was going on?

"I'll take my chances." Giles was a match for Angel in controlled menace. Spike felt a shiver down his spine. Only Xander looked, Xanderish. Cross. Upset. Human.

"We are going to stake him, aren't we?" It was almost a childish plea from the young man. Spike pulled himself up onto his knees.

"Wait one sodding minute here. Who's staking who? What chip's out? Would one of you vigilantes like to let me know what the hell is going on?"

Giles sung round to kick him in the face. Spike's reflexes were too fast for that; he blocked with his forearm and automatically rolled forward to take the man out. The pain in his head as he hit Giles was matched by the pain in his back as Angel's boot sent him flying back down to the dirt. As he lay there gasping Giles' toe caught him with full force and deliberation in the bridge of his nose.

"Do you think you can play your games with us, after what you've done." It was Giles again. " She trusted you, do you know that? She trusted you, and I turned my back on you, and you did this to her, first chance you had. Did you enjoy it, winning her confidence with your little babysitting act? Did you think you could bluff it out, that she'd be too ashamed to tell? Or did you think at all, does your animal brain get up to that level?"

Buffy. Obviously it had to have been about Buffy. But that didn't explain why they were here, so fast, or this reaction. Hell, Spike had expected some jealousy, some disapproval but this was ridiculous.

"The Slayer can choose her own lovers, daddy boy. She's a grown woman now. You've had your chance for five years now; five long years of being the father figure must get a bit wearing after a while. But just because you're not her type don't take it out on those who are."

Spike turned to look up at Angel. "And you, you left her. Upped sticks and off to the bright lights of L.A. What's your problem? Can't have your cake and eat it, you know. We don't all have your problems with intimacy. "

Angel seized him by the neck and threw him into the crypt. Spike rolled over and was up on his feet, laughing. Angel had never looked less amused.

"Lovers. You rape Buffy and you talk about being lovers. You're sicker than any demon I've ever met; you tried to twist her like I twisted Dru and when you couldn't you took what you wanted by force. But this time you won't be doing anything to anyone, ever again."

"Rape?" Spike was genuinely astonished. "I never touched her... well" he amended hastily, "obviously I touched her, I mean there was a fight, and well, we fought, and we kissed, and then, you know, we went on from there. But I didn't bloody rape her. More like her all over me, you know?"

Xander pushed his way forward. "Are you saying Buffy kissed you? Voluntarily? That she'd ever touch you like....that? And lie about it? Come on Spike, that's pathetic even for you. We all know how she loathed you. The only reason she didn't stake you was that she though you were harmless and she couldn't bring herself to dust you just because of her personal feelings."

"Buffy told you I raped her?" Spike looked at Giles.

"Willow did." Giles could barely bring himself to look at Spike directly. "She found Buffy crying in her bedroom. Once she'd found out what had happened Willow summoned us" (a grimace of distaste over his features) "magically."

"Well isn't this just one big misunderstanding then." Spike stepped forward. "I suggest you trot back to your nice little house and ask the Slayer personally what actually happened. Then you can come back here and apologise to me. Profusely. And maybe the Slayer will overlook the fact that you came charging in threatening mayhem because you didn't like her latest choice of boyfriend. Or maybe she'll kick you out of town so fast you won't see your arses till the middle of next week."

The three men facing him didn't move. Giles spoke again, dangerous, low.

"This time you aren't talking your way out of anything. We know what happened. And now I'm going to tell you what is going to happen here.

We're going to hurt you. And you're going to beg us to stop. And then you're going to beg us to kill you. And some time after that; a long time after that I expect, we're going to kill you."

Spike felt a sudden lightness of spirit. Giles was such a tosser sometimes.

"Listen to me. First, I didn't do it. Did not do it. Listen. DID NOT DO IT. Second, if you're going to make any more melodramatic speeches like that I'm going to beg you to stake me here and now. That way I can miss out on the worst of the suffering. Are all you Watchers so damn theatrical? What is it with you; too much Shakespeare?"

Angel came forward and leaned over to speak very quietly to Spike.

"I know you're not frightened of death. You've died once, and you've faced it daily for years. I could stake you now and you'd laugh as you turned to dust.

"You don't think you're frightened of pain either. You've got this image in your head of dying a defiant hero as we kill you out of frustration that we can't break you. You think you've got it all covered.

"But I know what you are frightened of, Spike. You're frightened of losing it. You're afraid that some day, somehow, someone is going to hurt you so badly that you won't have the will to defy them any more, that you'll admit defeat.

"That's tonight. That's what Giles and I are going to do to you. And you're going to deserve it, and worse. But there isn't any worse for you, is there?"

Spike looked at Angel, grim and serious. For the first time that evening he felt actual, physical fear, as he contemplated the thought that maybe Angel was right, maybe they could do this to him. At least they were going to try, and that was going to hurt, and he was probably going to die. He sprang for the doorway.

The scuffle that followed hardly qualified as a fight. Angel had always been stronger physically than Spike, and the searing pain through Spike's brain every time he touched Giles or Xander made it effectively four or five against one. He was pinned to the ground, face up with Angel astride him; a flash of recall of pinning Buffy like that earlier that night made him grimace.

Angel dragged him downstairs. Giles and Xander were fixing manacles to the bedposts. Spike laughed out loud, pleased that the sound came out relatively sincerely. "Which one of you lot keeps the chains handy then? Got any leatherwear to go with that?" Xander had the grace to blush. Giles and Angel ignored him.

They roughhoused him over to the bed. Spike was already feeling bruised. To his annoyance he couldn't decide whether to struggle or not; there didn't see much point right now. By the time he'd decided that he ought to put up some token resistance he was spreadeagled face up on the bed and it was a bit late. He put off testing the strength of the chains until later; perhaps there would be an opportunity to make a run for it.

Time to protest his innocence again. They clearly weren't buying it, even though it was true, he thought bitterly to himself, but maybe if he reiterated it enough times they'd start to doubt themselves.

"I did not force Buffy to do anything. She's upset because the damn chip doesn't work with her; because she's not right."

Giles backhanded him over the face with a casual brutality that still amazed Spike, who had never reconciled the librarian with the occasional glimpses of a darker soul underneath.

"If you say that again, or anything like it, we will gag you. Now shut up."

Spike sighed theatrically, but he didn't want to be forcibly silenced so he shut up. For the moment. He desperately needed to retain all the control over the situation that he could. The fear in his gut was now a gripping pain. He had a really bad, bad feeling about this one.

Previously he'd always been able to keep ahead mentally, even against tougher opponents, playing on their feelings, manipulating them even as they tortured him, probing their weak points and scoring the blows that he knew mattered more than the physical ones, at least to him. He didn't think that was going to work with Giles, and he knew it wouldn't work with Angel. The vampire wasn't going to be distracted from his goals or taunted into killing him. Spike was totally out of ideas, and Angel was hurting him.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Xander managed about ten minutes before Angel politely but firmly told him to go and patrol the perimeter of the cemetery. He left in a hurry. Spike snorted in laughter; the damage so far was purely superficial and he was coping with the pain fairly effectively; vampire bodies were used to taking punishment. The murmur of Angel's voice, almost seductive in its promises of things to come, was worse. Spike ignored it; he was trying to work out when the best time to start screaming was. He was under no illusions that this was anything but inevitable; it didn't mean defeat, but it was a concession to his torturers. Was it better to scream soon, and make it no big deal, or make them work for it?

Part of him was amazed that he was still playing these power games in this mortal peril. But he couldn't help it; Angel was right. The pain was bloody awful, and he didn't want to die either, but everything in him told him that giving in would be worse, as well as futile. They were going to hurt him; they were going to kill him, whether he pleaded for his life or not. The only thing left to bargain with was his pride and they weren't getting that as long as he had any choice in the matter. If he gave them that he'd have nothing left at all.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

Some interminable time later he was wondering how much choice he had left. The upper part of his body was a mass of burns. He seemed to have lost a couple of fingernails somewhere (how careless, he thought madly to himself). His silence had given way to cursing and that had gone into screaming somewhere along the line. His mouth and nose were clogged with his own blood. Every second that Angel wasn't touching him was almost blissful; but these were over far too soon. They had unshackled him after a while; the manacles had proved strong enough to resist his most strenuous convulsions but they had wanted him on the floor and he was far past running anywhere.

At one point he'd had another go at talking them out of it. Even before he opened his mouth he wondered why he was bothering,

"What about this precious soul of yours? Approve of this sort of thing, does it?"

Angel looked at him.

"Have you seen what humans with souls do to each other, all the time? This is not about souls; this is about you, and me, Spike. My soul doesn't have any problem with this at all."

Spike suddenly realised that he had been mistaken. He had discounted Angel as a weak, neutered player; too concerned with his own missions and guilt to worry Spike, provided he kept out of Angel's way. Now he saw a different Angel; not Angelus but in some ways equally powerful, and not nearly as tethered to conventional human morality as Spike had assumed. This was a bloody vampire, after all; he'd almost forgotten. Angel scared the hell out of him.

Giles had become a figure in the background. Angel was there all the time. Spike's eyes were usually closed but every few minutes his head would be wrenched up and Angel would stare long and levelly at him. Then Spike would summon up his resistance and open his eyes to glare at Angel. Angel would smile, an awful, mirthless smile, and drop Spike's head again. Then he would hurt him all over again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Giles had enough before Spike broke. Spike heard him make his apologies to Angel and leave. His feet dragged over the floor of the crypt like those of a much older man.

Angel closed the heavy door upstairs, leaving the door to the lower chamber open and returned to Spike's side. There was a long, long pause. Eventually Spike opened his eyes and turned his head. Angel was sitting on the bed, looking at him. There was nothing at all showing on his face.

Spike wanted the silence, the inaction to go on forever. He had had enough. He could think of no way to stop Angel from hurting him.

But something inside him still drove him to speech. Something wouldn't quite let go; accepted the inevitability of defeat, but not yet, not while there was still a choice between actions. He spat out a mouthful of blood and spoke to Angel.

"I didn't rape her."

For the first time a flicker of doubt passed over Angel's face. It was followed by anger.

"Don't try that with me. I know everything there is about betrayal and you've done it. Whatever was in your twisted brain at the time, you took advantage of her when she was vulnerable. You just wanted to hurt her."

Spike found new strength from somewhere,

"And you'd know about that, wouldn't you, Angelus? Hurt a few women yourself in your time? Drove Dru to madness, killed, raped, mutilated? I've done nothing; this is your idea of punishment for your crimes, not mine?"

Angels' face shifted into vampiric form. Something had touched a nerve.

"Hurt women? Yes, and men too, Spike. And vampires. You're nothing compared to what I was, what I'm capable of. You should have remembered that when you damaged the woman I love." He snarled, a deep animal sound, and grabbed Spike, hurling him back onto the bed.

Spike thought maybe he'd done it; maybe Angel would kill him now. He felt a huge sense of relief that the pain would stop, and a twinge of unexpected victory. But Angel had other plans.

"Would you like to see what I can do? Would you like to know what it's like to be violated, helpless? I know, you see. Because I've been here so many times before."

Spike was face down; he felt his jeans being ripped off. Just before it happened he realised that the bastard was going to rape him. He didn't know what to feel or think. He knew he ought to feel something; outraged, maybe, or surprised, or shamed. The only thing he could find in himself was a vague sense of relief that at least this wouldn't hurt as much as the torture.

He was wrong. The pain was incredible. And then the feeling started; revulsion that his body, which had been the source of so much pain for him for the last few hours was now being used for Angel's pleasure. Face down on the bed he was fortunate that he didn't need to breathe. Angel was so damn heavy. And huge. And violent. Spike felt the last spark of his resistance dim. Desperately he tried to cling on to it but it was gone. There was nothing left inside him but the need to make Angel stop hurting him.

So when, finally, Angel climbed off the bed Spike lay face still buried in the bloody covers. There was nothing to move for. He knew with absolute certainty that any second now Angel would touch him again, look him in the face and he would start begging for his life, or his death, or anything but this. And that Angel wouldn't listen but he'd beg anyway because there was nothing else left to do.

There was the noise of a zipper. Then noises outside. Spike heard the familiar sound of the crypt door being flung open and footsteps racing across the stone.

Buffy sounded incandescent with rage.

"What the fuck are you doing" she screamed at Angel. Without waiting for an answer she screamed again.

"Make some use of that bloody magic and keep him alive", and once more;

"I cannot believe you are making me come here to rescue that from you! Get back to England, back to LA, back to where-ever; just get the hell out of my life!"

Spike heard a soft voice close to him; Willow, he identified without really noticing.  
He could feel strength returning. He raised himself onto one elbow and Buffy, catching the movement, wheeled on him.

"You stupid, soulless, monster!" Spike raised an eyebrow at Buffy, rather relieved to find he still had at least one of those. "Took your time, love. Held up in traffic?"

The he looked at Angel, and Angel looked back. There was a lot Spike couldn't read in his grandsire's expression, or lack of it, but with the insight that Spike had often found he possessed when it came to Angel he realised that Angel didn't know.

Didn't know he'd given in. Didn't know that Angel had made good on his promises.

And there was more. He could see the lust for blood, for pain in Angel's face, and the realisation that it was over; his excuse was gone, the guilt even now starting to haunt his eyes. He could see the anger, and arousal, and threat, all directed towards him. It made him want to shudder in fear and laugh in triumph at the same time. Damn, but he had won. Really.

Guilt; now that had to be a great one to play with. A vampire could really have fun with that one. And now he knew that Angel was more than the holier than thou type he appeared, Spike knew that he had to find out more. After all, he could never resist a challenge. And the bastard owed him, big time. Wouldn't do for him to think Spike was afraid of him. Just remember to keep out of torture chambers. Or at least be the one on top.

He had some unfinished business here; she was still bawling out Giles and Xander while trying not too look at the bloodstained bed or his wrecked and naked body lying on top of it. But after that, and for the first time there was an after that, he knew he had somewhere to move on to.

Spike grinned through the mask of blood and tears at Angel. "See you in LA,....soon."

The look on Angel's face stayed with Spike until he finally lost consciousness.


End file.
